In The Face Of Adversary
by giveyourimmortalitytome
Summary: Toby Isaacs' life up until this point, this moment – it hadn’t been much more than a joke. He’d played Halo, stuttered around pretty girls, and lost everything that mattered to him... Only days away from the new life awaiting him at MIT, Toby reflects.


"Why don't you call someone, Toby? Liberty, or Emma – or Derek and Danny. Why don't you go out and do something tonight?" Kate looked on eagerly as Toby pushed lukewarm mashed potatoes from the right of his plate to the left. Ash and Dad tried their best to remain composed, as well, but Toby could feel their enthusiasm prodding him as he poked at his peas.

"Liberty has been in New York for a week, and Emma is leaving for McGill tomorrow. And I already told you, Derek and Danny are coaching at a basketball camp until the end of the month."

"Oh… Well…" Kate faltered, doing her best to mask her disappointment. She shot her husband a pleading look; he played along obediently.

"You could always hang out with Ashley, tonight, with all her friends! Right, Ash? Wouldn't that be fun?"

Ash's fork clattered to her plate as she opened her mouth to protest. "No, he can't, I –" Realizing how harsh she sounded, she picked her fork back up and tapped in on the table; reformulating her response. "– I mean – I have a date with Jimmy tonight, Jeff… He's leaving soon, and I thought we'd be, you know…_alone…_" She raised her eyebrows suggestively; Toby rolled his eyes.

"No, Kate – Dad – it's fine. Ash doesn't want a tagalong, and I don't want to be a third wheel. I have some packing to finish tonight, anyway. I'll be fine."

"It's just, you're leaving in less than a week, dear," Kate said sympathetically. "We want you to enjoy your last days in Toronto."

"Mmhmm," Toby muttered in response. He pushed his half-eaten dinner away and stood up. "Can I be excused?"

Kate and Dad shot each other concerned looks, then turned to him and nodded sadly. Toby stuffed his hands into his pockets and, _finally_, escaped.

Unable to cope with loosing both of her babies in one fell swoop, Kate had started insisting on nightly family dinners. They mostly consisted of Ash rambling excitedly about Roosevelt University and Chicago and the fabulous literary magazine they had and how she was going to change lives with her music teaching and on and on and on and on… Interjected, of course, by Kate's empathetic murmurs – directed mostly at Toby, although he'd learned to tune them out long ago. Dad, who was usually a lot more okay with his son being a social pariah, had started playing the Go-Have-Some-Fun game, too. The routine of avoiding their concerned glances and worried comments was wearing on Toby's nerves.

Toby started up the stairs, but paused for a moment to hear what everyone had to say about his departure. "I'm worried about him," Kate murmured, soft enough that Toby barely caught it. "No friends, no dates – does he even play on the computer anymore?"

He's never been a social kid," Dad explained his son's strange actions away, just like always. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Ever since… He hasn't been the same person."

"JT died, Mom." Ash muttered through a mouthful. "What do you expect him to do? Break out into song?"

"It's been almost five months." Kate replied. "I'm worried."

"He's leaving in a couple of days," Dad said breezily. "and things will get better once gets to university. A change of pace will be good for Toby."

"I hope so," Kate said softly. The conversation drifted towards Ashley's awesome new roommate. Toby stifled a snort and jogged quickly up to his room.

They thought they knew him – Kate, Dad, Ash. They thought that by prodding him to be social, or ignoring the issue altogether, everything would turn out alright. They believed that Toby was strong; he was smart; he knew how to pick up the pieces of his life after something like this happened. He'd survived a shooting, after all. He could survive anything.

That ugly word – _they_ – didn't apply to just his family. It included nearly everyone in his life; even those that he once called his friends. Liberty and Emma and Manny all believed the same lie – they bought the smile he had plastered on his face ever since he'd faked brotherhood. The figured that since he wasn't a blubbering mess like Mia, or a stoic statue like Liberty – well, then, he must be fine… Right?

(In reality, they didn't know anything.)

Toby ran a hand through his greasy hair and surveyed his room. In the past weeks, it had been stripped to the bare essentials: bed, lamp, laptop. His clothes were piled in boxes along the walls; his CDs and other random stuff in boxes on top of those. Everything within the boxes and trunks was stacked neatly; organized by color and category. Packing for university had become an obsession for Toby. Having been left with nothing productive to do with his summer, he had spent hour after hour meticulously sorting and folding his clothes – winter and summer, dressy and casual. He'd painstakingly alphabetized his CDs and stacked them like Pringles. Life has slowed down so much for him recently that his biggest problem was deciding which comics to bring with him.

He was nearly done, much to his dismay. All that remained was a small shoebox shoved into the corner of his closet. He didn't have the courage to unearth it, not yet, and instead switched on his laptop. He opened up his dMail account out of habit – but had been replaced with a "no longer available" window immediately following graduation.

Not that he ever got dMail while he was at school, anyway. One from Emma every couple of months, urging him to sign some petition or go to some protest; sometimes a lame joke from JT, when he got bored during Media Immersions. Nothing special.

Rick used to dMail him, all the time – back when he was, uh, you know. Alive. (It was always awkward thinking about people in the past tense.) During class, when he was procrastinating – nothing all that interesting, really. Just updates on his day, random facts that he hoarded, and lists – lots of lists. Girls he liked, girls he hated, his top ten Shakespeare plays and Dickens novels. Various ways Spinner Mason would see his downfall. Top twenty ways to say 'You're fired!'

Toby slammed the laptop closed and pushed it to the floor. He ignored the muted thud and stretched out on his bed. He fixated on the crack in the ceiling – he'd spent a majority of the past five months staring at that crack. A majority of the past five years.

Randomly, JT's last words popped into his head. (That happened, sometimes. JT lived on in Toby's head.) "I'm going to go get myself a big bowl of Liberty – oatmeal." JT had died en route to tell Liberty he loved her. JT had loved Liberty, and Liberty had loved him back.

Toby gulped and turned to his side, pushing the thoughts of love far away from his brain. He curled his knees to his chest and shut his eyes. _Massachusetts Institute of Technology, _he chanted wordlessly to himself. _Em Eye Tee. Hi, my name is Toby Isaacs, and I'm a freshman at MIT._

In four days, he would be lying in a bed in Cambridge, staring at a new blank wall and listening to Harry Clinton snore. In four days, he wouldn't be in Toronto. He wouldn't be in Canada. He would be in Cambridge, Massachusetts, taking technology courses and building a new life for himself.

He wouldn't be the computer geek with the two dead friends. He'd be that kid who you sat with in the dining hall, sometimes; that guy who sat next to you in Computer Animated Drafting 101. JT's voice wouldn't echo off of every step Toby took in Cambridge. His laughter wouldn't seep out of every room Toby stood in at MIT. Toby could forget all about James Tiberius Yorke, if he wanted. No one would ever have to know.

_Em Eye Tee. _Toby repeated determinedly. _Em Eye Tee._

What was Liberty doing right now? Signing up for courses? Grabbing a latte at a carbon copy Starbucks? Toby imagined her strutting down a New York City street, surrounded by preppy, collegiate classmates and laughing about a stupid remark the professor had made in statistics. He hoped she was happy. Liberty deserved to be happy.

They hadn't really talked since graduation. After school ended, they had run out of topics. Well, all but one – but talking about JT was sort of weird. She had been valedictorian, of course, and mentioned him in her speech. The class of 2007 had looked to each other solemnly, remembering the one they lost; moments later they jubilantly tossed their caps into the air, cheering for the future. Toby had hugged Liberty goodbye, wished her luck at Columbia, and gone out to dinner with Kate and Dad. (Ash had been with her friends. Toby didn't really have any of those.)

He'd thought about her a lot, though – thought about what they could have been. He wasn't sure if he loved Liberty Van Zandt, but he knew it was, at least, the closest he had ever gotten. She didn't return the feelings; he knew that – their post-funeral kiss hadn't meant anything to her.

He, however, had fantasized about that kiss for a good month… Until it finally hit him that kissing Liberty had been the exception, not the rule. That's when he had opened up his box again. Moments later, he'd thrusted it back into the depths of his closet.

Toby let his thoughts drift past all the faces that had made up his life since conception. Abby Highwater, his first crush, who had pushed him into a mud puddle in Grade 1. His best friend until Grade 7, Ryan Porter, who'd broken his promise and fallen out of touch. Then he had transferred to Degrassi, and met all the current regulars – Emma Marie Nelson. Manuela Daniela Santos. Liberty Margaret Van Zandt. He could recite all their full names; he doubted any of them even knew his middle initial. (P, for Prescott.) He'd gone through phases with all of them – puppy love with Emma in Grade Seven, infatuation with Manny in Grade 10, and love (or whatever) with Liberty in Grade Twelve.

Three crushes, and you'd think he would have hooked up with at least one of them over the past five years. But, no – he'd gotten Kendra, who meant well but had, in truth, sort of scared him. Toby had only dated Kendra because she was there. She didn't even come close to his permanent top three: Liberty, Manny, and Emma. Then again, he never really got that close to them, either.

Toby had spent his high school years lusting after girls who thought of him as more of a little brother than a romantic interest. He was a nerd, plain and simple. JT had been one, too, but in a cuter, more endearing sort of way. If JT was Seth Cohen, Toby was Screech. Or Erkel. Or Minkus.

That's why Toby had liked Rick, at first – they'd shared the same interests, including the same complete invisibility when the female sex was concerned. Rick had dated Terri, of course, but everyone knew how that turned out.

Rick had liked Emma, too. Rick had tried to shoot Emma in the face because Emma didn't like him back. Since then, Toby had always hoped his life wouldn't come to that.

JT had always gotten girls. He was JT, after all. Girls found him sweet and charming and flirty. (Those same girls were repulsed by Toby.) Their track records made things clear: JT had gotten close enough to a girl to impregnate her. Toby? Well, Toby had barely rounded first base – and even _that_ was a bit of an exaggeration.

Toby took a deep breath and pulled himself up. _Em Eye Tee. Em Eye Tee. _What would college be for the boy whose closest contact with a woman had been Fancy the Stripper in Grade 8? What would college do to him? It was kids like him – the quiet, nerdy, sheltered ones – who died of alcohol poisoning. Unaware of their limits, they got too crazy and partied too hard and ended up with herpes. Knowing Toby's luck, in three months he would be the cranky college drop-out shelving videos at Blockbuster. Or the crazy homeless guy who belted Madonna for spare change and lived underneath the slide at the park.

What would it be like if JT was still alive? He'd be at NESC, or URI – his top two schools – making friends and cracking jokes. Toby might be somewhere other than his bed, looking at something a hell of a lot more interesting than his wall. Everything would be different if JT were still alive.

And what about Rick? If Rick were alive, maybe Toby wouldn't be friends with JT at all. Maybe JT would have gone on to bigger and better things – become an official member of Paige and Spinner's crew. Being friends with Toby had always held JT back. They had both known it.

What if there hadn't been a shooting? What if Spinner and Jay hadn't dumped the paint on Rick? Maybe Spinner would have never been held back; would never have found Christianity and Darcy – maybe he'd still be an asshole. Maybe Jimmy would be on his way to UCLA instead of SCAD. Things might have not been any different – maybe Rick would have still brought a gun to school a few months later. Maybe Toby would have helped.

(There were times in his life when Toby completely understood the embarrassment, the anger, the loneliness that drove Rick to point a gun at Jimmy, at Emma. Those moments terrified him more than any bullet ever could.)

Toby sat up; rubbed his eyes. His life consisted of mostly maybes. Maybe if he hadn't been too busy making out with that Lakehurst chick (what had her name been? not that it mattered – she'd never called him back), JT would have talked to him earlier, left the house earlier, found Liberty, and not gotten stabbed. Maybe if he'd been a better friend to Rick, if he had actually stood up for him for once – maybe Jimmy would still have use of his legs. Maybe Liberty could have loved him. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

_Em Eye Tee. Em Eye Tee._

Maybe it could all be different for him at _Em Eye Tee._

Toby applied to university because he'd felt like he had to, not because of any urge to succeed or get out of Toronto or anything. He was a Grade 12, after all, and that's what Grade 12's did. It's was what was expected of him. He'd applied to the schools his parents wanted for him; the ones Mrs. Suave said would be a good match. MIT (_Em Eye Tee, Em Eye Tee)_ had always been his dream. But when he'd found the acceptance letter in the mailbox, he'd simply left it on the kitchen table, unopened. Kate had found it; she'd screamed and jumped him as he watched TV. Toby had fended off her hugs and kisses best he could; craning his neck to see what Jack Bauer was blowing up.

Even though the thought of leaving Toronto left him just as empty as before, Toby had sent in his deposit. He'd gone shopping with Kate for new dorm-sized sheets and a mini-fridge. He'd filled out his roommate application and pretended to care. He'd crammed his life into a dozen or so cardboard boxes.

And here he was, about to embark on a new chapter of his life. Without Rick, without JT. Without anyone, really. His life up until this point, this moment – it hadn't been much more than a joke. He'd played Halo, stuttered around pretty girls, and lost everything that mattered to him. First Rick, then JT. Being friends with Toby was like playing with dynamite.

JT had a good life. Well, you know. Except for the dying part. (See, there was that awkwardness again.) JT had fallen in love, had sex. Fathered a child. Helped raise another. (How was Mia doing? Toby hadn't said a word to her since the memorial…) JT had mattered to the people around him. He was never going to be forgotten. Ten years down the road, Liberty and Mia and Manny and Emma would all look back on their high school years, sadly and fondly recalling the boy with the crooked smile who'd deserved so much more out of life. Those same girls would probably struggle to remember Toby's name.

Toby realized he was a horrible person, for being jealous. Five months ago, JT's life had ended with a fatal tear in his aorta – and here Toby was, wishing more than anything they could switch places. JT would love university. He would make friends everywhere he went. Toby? Toby was going to end up gaining thirty pounds and flunking out the first month.

He couldn't do this. Not alone. Without JT, Toby wasn't sure if he was capable of anything. Without JT, Toby just faded into the background. He was no more than a chair in dire need of upholstering; an ugly lamp. Without JT, Toby didn't matter.

_Without JT. Without JT. Without JT._

Five months later, the thought still sent Toby spiraling. He leapt off of his bed and stumbled to his closet. He flung open the door and dropped to his knees, pulling the neglected (but never forgotten) shoebox towards him. He pried off the lid and tossed it to his side, staring at the box's contents.

Desperation welled within him as he ran a finger along the barrel. He never really understood what had driven him to buy a gun. He'd done it three towns over a few Saturdays after the shooting. (You'd think his best friend shooting up the school would inspire otherwise, but – whatever. Rick had put the idea in his head, if anything.) Toby had bought the gun, shoved it into a shoebox, and chucked it into his closet.

It had remained there, save for the few desperate moments when Toby had taken it out to stare at it. As bad as his life ever got, he'd always been too cowardly to do anything more.

But JT was dead. And Toby was alone.

He stared at the gun. Gulped.

Toby had spent most of his life alone, and he had lasted…right?

But look at where he was now. Look at what the loneliness had led to.

A gun, stashed away in his closet. A yearbook nearly empty of autographs. Boxes and boxes of all his worldly possessions, stacked neatly and nicely and obsessively.

_Em Eye Tee. _Toby squeezed his eyes shut; rubbed his temples. _Em Eye Tee._

Would life ever be different for the nerd with two dead best friends?

Was there hope hidden in his new mini-fridge and roommate survey?

A new life waiting for him in dorm 48C of Gregory Hall at _Em Eye Tee?_

Was a new start even possible for the boy who had witnessed gunshots and stabbings and all sorts of tragedies?

The boy who still slept with a nightlight because he was haunted by night terrors of his two dead best friends?

Toby had survived a lot in his eighteen years. A minor bout of bulimia. A shooting. A dead best friend. Multiple broken hearts. Another dead best friend. Somehow, Toby had survived.

Everyone found his survival to be some great miracle. His grandparents whispered to his dad on their monthly visits - _a strong boy. Good head on his shoulders. _The teachers had written similar sentiments in his letters of recomendation - _In the face of adversary, Toby fights and kicks and comes out strong._

Strong - he wasn't strong. He was weak, pathetic, broken.

The fact that he hard survived at all should have been enough to motivate Toby to keep going. Keep living.

_But...?_

Toby stared at the gun. Gulped.


End file.
